


A Light That Never Goes Out

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 2013 and the Croatian virus has spread. Overrun by Croats in Wellsville, Kansas, Dean and Castiel find themselves surrounded. What they learn about themselves, and each other, isn't what they expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light That Never Goes Out

_“Proud Past, Growing Future."_   
_—Wellsville’s Motto_

_  
**Wellsville, Kansas, 2013**  
_

 

“Cas, run!”

Castiel didn’t second guess or hesitate. He threw down his empty shot gun, turned and ran as fast as he could. His legs burned with the effort and his lungs screamed with the lack of oxygen. They were outnumbered. It seemed like the whole population of Wellsville were after them. Castiel could hear Dean behind him, followed by a loud chorus of snarls and chattering teeth. Croats. A whole ton of them. Too many. As Dean would say.. _they were fucked._

Up ahead, a prominent building with the words _Auburn Pharmacy_ stood tall like a beacon of hope. A fortress amid the rubble of desolation. Abandoned houses with black, soulless windows stared at him as he rushed by, their doors seeming more like gaping mouths trapped in horror than anything else. In one of the alleyways, a Croat chewed on the arm of its latest victim; a woman with a flower-patterned dress whose screams were as empty and horrible as this godforsaken place. Castiel looked behind him to find Dean fast on his heels. Upon seeing him working as hard as he was to get away, Castiel didn’t feel quite as alone. They were in this together. Just like always.

But seeing the endless sea of angry, hungry faces just beyond Dean—

Castiel tripped on his own two feet and tumbled to the ground. Pain shot up his leg and made him cry out. Dean was there in an instant, pulling him up by his arm—

“Come on, Cas. Get up!”

—and dragging him along toward the pharmacy. Dean reached the door first, body checking it only to discover that it was securely locked. Castiel felt a swell of panic well up in his chest and flicked his gaze back over his shoulder. The surge of Croats loomed large, closing in quickly. Too quickly. When he looked back, Dean was in mid-swing, throwing a solid punch at the thin glass. Castiel shielded his eyes just in time, bracing himself against the shower of shrapnel. He didn’t even hear a sound of pain from Dean. When Castiel looked, the hunter was all steel-faced and tight-jawed despite the cuts on his arm. Like he had a job to do; make sure they were safe and then save the world.

With the flick of his wrist, Dean unlocked the door and opened it up wide, rushing inside. Castiel followed without pause, moving away from the door once inside the pharmacy. Dean slammed the door shut and closed the metal gate just as several Croats crashed into the other side, snarling and hissing. Castiel stood there and stared at those faces while Dean stepped back. There were so many of them. So lost, so.. unhuman. They were only monsters now and that sickened him. Quietly, he mourned each and every one of them. Even in his state, with his Grace diminished, Castiel could feel the black hole where their souls should have been. Only carcasses. For without a soul, what human truly lives? Even with a broken soul, Castiel wondered how anyone could continue on in this world.

He looked at Dean and could almost see the shattered pieces of his soul. He wore them like a death shroud. After his brother had said yes to Lucifer, Dean had completely fallen apart. His heart was now hard and his compassion had been replaced with an unfortunate black-and-white view of the world. As Dean searched a nearby aisle for Croats, every movement methodical and militaristic, Castiel missed the hunter who had smiled and laughed. He knew those days were long gone.

“You gonna help me search and clear the place or are you gonna stare?”

Castiel blinked and found critical greens eyes burrowing into him. “My apologies.”

Immediately, Castiel fanned out in the opposite direction of Dean to cover more ground. The convenient store was small, tight aisles filled to the brim with daily necessities. Several of them had been ransacked, foodstuffs and supplies tipped over, spilled out onto the hard tile. Other than minor looting, the aisles seemed relatively.. clear. Castiel found that odd. Most other buildings had been nearly destroyed, the guts of the interiors pulled out onto the streets like eviscerated corpses. Perhaps the owner of this store had—

“Now we’re talkin’!” He heard Dean shout from the front of the store. The cocking of a shotgun. Castiel turned to look and found Dean grinning like a kid in a candy store. He held the shotgun up and wiggled his brows. “Fuck yeah.”

Castiel flashed him a wry smirk and looked away, toward the back of the store where the pharmacy was. Dark, long shadows stretched deep, nestling in every corner. Perfect hiding places for Croats. But there was another danger altogether. A danger that Dean didn’t know about. Castiel didn’t have the heart to tell him that the headaches had gotten worse. That he took anything to make the pain go away. The addiction sent an ache along his bones. As if to mock him, to make the temptation even greater, the beginnings of a headache began to fray at his subconscious. The dull pain began to pulse. Castiel knew it would make his skull throb within an hour. If only he could—

A thud made him freeze. Castiel listened closely—another thud. He shot a gaze toward the front of the store, where Dean should have been. But the aisles and the displays prevented Castiel from catching a glimpse of the hunter. He nodded to himself. He could do this on his own. With tentative steps, Castiel crept closer toward the door. It was just off to the side of the pharmacy and had _Keep Out!_ written across it in red. Castiel assumed it was some sort of back room where the store employees would keep the excess inventory. That would make sense.

Another thud made Castiel flinch.

The sound came from the other side of the door. Like something—or _someone_ —was hitting it. With a deep breath, Castiel reached for the door handle and turned it. Slowly but surely, he opened the door wide and was met with a horrifying stench. It smelled like.. death. Like bodies that had been decaying for weeks. His stomach revolted and he felt nauseous. He tried to open his mouth to call for Dean, but the smell attacked him first, rushing down his throat. He almost threw up what little food he had eaten, but somehow kept it down. And then he heard it. A snarl. The gnashing of teeth. The shrill sound of something.. hungry.

Instinct told Castiel to back away. On unsure feet, he took a step back, another one, before the looming figure shuffled out into the light. It was grotesque. A larger man with a plaid shirt, a hat—the type of person one would find deep in the woods, hunting deer. The man’s lips looked as if they had been bitten off and his throat.. ripped out. It emitted another shrill noise and lunged. It intended for Castiel to be its next meal.

The angel gained sure footing and jumped back just out of the way of its fingers. Gnarled things that it used as claws. They were dirty, bloody. Like the monster had used them to rip apart whatever else was in there. Quickly, Castiel looked around for something to use. A display detailing the latest deal in professional chef’s cutlery caught his attention. Just then, the Croat came at him again, jerking forward and swiping with its claws rather quickly. Castiel used the opportunity to lunge for the knives, slipping two from the wooden block. Without question, Castiel sent one of them sailing toward the Croat. The blade tumbled end over end, quickly, precisely, _perfectly_ , and stuck cleanly in its throat. The Croat barely even flinched and came at him again. Castiel tried to evade. Too late. Claws raked down his arm, catching on the folds of his jacket—one that Dean let him borrow. Another shrill, angry noise. With all the power he had, Castiel threw the second blade. It shimmered along its projected path in the dull light, embedding deeply into the Croat’s chest. It didn’t stop. Instead, the monster ran for him. Castiel backed away quickly, nearly knocked over another product display in his haste. He knew then that he wouldn’t be able to get away in time. This monster, this harbinger of death, was simply too fast.

“Cas!”

Castiel half-turned his head to follow Dean’s voice. The hunter’s expression was.. fearful, green eyes wide. Distracted, Castiel could barely register the jerk-forward motion from Dean. It was by the tips of his fingers that Castiel caught the tossed shotgun, with barely enough time to whirl and face the Croat. The fired shot split its head open and the Croat fell to the ground, twitching toward a stillness that seemed to settle across the entire store. Like death itself had fallen across the small town of Wellsville.

Dean was the first to react, coming up to Castiel’s side to clap him on the shoulder. “Close one.”

Castiel didn’t say anything and simply nodded his agreement. His heart raced in the aftermath and the pain in his head pulsed again, just to remind Castiel that it was there. He ignored it, intending to finish securing the store and clearing it of any Croats. Despite how badly it began to hurt. In the back, the hallway split off and led to separate wings. Dean went to the left and Castiel took the other hallway. He found nothing in the wing’s smaller room; inventory, a destroyed computer. The larger room at the end of the hallway was a completely different story. When Castiel opened it, he was met with a dizzying array of.. weapons. Like the store’s owner had stockpiled them for use in.. the Apocalypse.

“Ho..ly.. shit..” Dean whispered when he came up behind Castiel. How long had Castiel been staring? “Gotta love those Second Amendment nutcases.”

Dean slipped passed him and into the room, moving over to inspect the guns. Castiel turned toward one of the tables and leafed through papers detailing several conspiracy theories about aliens, abductions and human rights. How the government was always watching. How the world would end according to.. whichever calendar. Castiel smirked at the irony of it all. The end was here. Now. No calendar could have predicted this.

“Lots of bullshit in here..” Dean mumbled, thumbing through pages of a journal.

Castiel stepped toward a desk. It was strewn with more papers, a hand-scrawled note, drug paraphernalia. A joint and a bag of marijuana. Curious, Castiel picked up the note and read it.

_It’s over. The end of the world is here. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out?_

“Come on, Cas. Let’s get out of here.”

Castiel regarded Dean for a second before reading the note again. With an amused exhale through his nose, he tossed it away and turned to follow Dean out.

“We’ll gather a few of those weapons and enough supplies for the camp on our way out—”

A camp that consisted of Bobby and a few others in a farmhouse up the road.

“For now, we gotta stay here. Wait until sundown. Croats can’t see shit at night. We’ll have a better chance at survival.”

Castiel nodded and turned toward the other hallway—

“Already checked that, Cas. You don’t want to go back there. Store employees. All dead. Seems as if tubby had a bit of a snack before you smoked ‘im.”

Castiel felt another tinge of sorrow for those that were lost and turned again to follow Dean out into the main storefront. At the entrance, the surge of Croats slammed, clawed and banged against the broken glass door and secure metal grating. They seemed.. agitated, more animated. They grew even more desperate when Dean came closer to them, stopping in one of the front aisles for a bag of licorice. And that was when he smelled it.

Blood.

Castiel inhaled deeply. It was stronger when he came closer to Dean. His blue eyes followed the darker line along Dean’s arm, to his shoulder. There, his midnight blue jacket was ripped and Castiel could see the ragged edges of a deep gash. A slow frown creased Castiel’s face. Dean must have gotten hurt when he—

“Dean..”

The hunter had a mouthful of licorice. “Some good shit..”

“Dean..”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Dean angled his head back to look at the wound as if he too had just noticed it. “S’just a scratch.”

“Tell that to them.”

In answer, the Croats snarled and slammed against the metal gate, even more animated than they were before.

“They can smell it,” Castiel said calmly, as if this were an everyday conversation. “You need stitches.”

“I’m fine, Cas.”

“Dean—“

“I said I’m fine!”

Castiel growled and stepped forward to grab his arm. “I don’t care.”

Dean glared at him and then winced at the pain.

“You _need_ stitches,” he repeated. His tone left no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Dean nodded and they both split off to different ends of the store. Castiel headed for the pharmacy, hopping over the service counter with relative ease. He knew what he needed. His head throbbed in anticipation and Castiel braced himself against one of the shelves when he suddenly became dizzy. He needed relief quickly. Dean would need it too. That was what he kept telling himself.

Castiel found his balance and started sorting through the different pill bottles. After a lengthy search, he picked up a bottle of OxyNorm 5mg capsules and popped it open. His mouth started salivating and his head surged with another wave of pain. Without thinking, he shoved five pills in his mouth and swallowed. What Grace he had left would dull the effects and prevent him from overdosing. Care needed to be taken, however. The more his Grace waned, the more the drugs would have an effect on him.

His anxiety alone began to fade away once he knew the drugs were in his system. Knowing that relief from the pain was well on its way. For Dean, he tapped the bottle into his hand and shoved those pills in his jacket pocket before leaving the pharmacy. Up and over the service counter again. Grabbing a sewing kit and rubbing alcohol. In the next aisle, sitting in front of one of the commercial refrigerators, Dean held a bottle of hard liquor. He took a gulp of it before silently handing it off to Castiel. Without question, Castiel took it and downed some of it easily, giving it back to Dean before settling on the floor behind him.

“Take off your shirt and jacket.”

Dean didn’t. Castiel furrowed his brow. He knew that Dean hated being fussed over and would rather bleed if it came down to it. He couldn’t stand seeing Dean in pain. And if he couldn’t help with the mental and emotional anguish—

“Dean..” Castiel whispered. “Please.”

Reluctantly, with a sigh, Dean complied, wincing while taking off his jacket. The damage was worse than Castiel had thought. The shirt beneath was soaked through in blood, the torn edges of the fabric showing off more of the gash. From here, it looked deep. Uncomfortable. Dangerous. Enough blood had the potential of bringing the whole village on top of their heads. Castiel would need to be quick yet careful.

When Dean took his shirt off, the wound was suddenly no longer a concern. The acres of soft skin, sun-kissed and almost delicate, made Castiel swallow hard. He would never get over how Dean made him feel. Right now, he was so close, so tangible that Castiel could barely concentrate. If this were another place, another time—

“Earth to Cas..”

Castiel blinked and flushed. Dean was cutting his eyes at him expectantly from over a shoulder. Immediately, Castiel looked away and shoved his hand inside his pocket.

“Here. Take this. It’ll take the edge off.”

Castiel handed him one of the pills and Dean popped it into his mouth without question, swallowing it down and chasing it with more alcohol. Castiel busied himself with readying the thread, unraveling a bunch of it from its spool and biting it off with his teeth. The rubbing alcohol was poured into a small, shallow dish and the thread dipped into it to soak. It would be sanitized by this method, and the needle and tweezers by fire. While Dean applied and held an ice pack to his shoulder, Castiel pinched off the excess rubbing alcohol from the thread and poked it through the eye of the needle. Everything he had learned was from Dean. His lack of Grace prevented him from just.. healing wounds like he was used to.

Castiel swallowed down the bitterness. “Are you rea—“

“Yeah. Do it.”

Castiel didn’t have a chance to inch closer before Dean took care of the last precautionary measure. With his head tilted back, Dean drank—no, _guzzled_ —at the mouth of the bottle, seemingly downing as much alcohol as he could before the procedure. Castiel recognized the desperate want to drown out the pain because he himself faced it on a daily basis. With a heaviness in his heart, Castiel watched the hunter escape. Flee from the here and now. The stern lines of his shoulder blades melted under the effects of his chosen drug. His rigid, straight spine turning to liquid as everything, his whole body, relaxed and eased into a certain.. comfort. A familiar complacency. Dean squared out his shoulder, resting a fist on his thigh, but didn’t say anything at all.

Quietly, Castiel sighed and picked up the sanitized tweezers, gauging which area of the wound to attack first. He knew that this wasn’t going to be easy. Testing, Castiel pinched the tweezers closed a couple of times.

“I’m sorry..”

“For what?”

_For everything.. Sam. The way your childhood was stolen from you. This.. incredible burden on your shoulders._

In the end, Castiel said nothing. He inched closer, locating a shimmering piece of glass embedded in skin and plucked. Dean growled out in pain.

“For fuck’s sake, Cas!”

After a few more awkward plucks and angry curses, they slipped into a steady rhythm. Castiel quickly learned when Dean needed a break from the pinching and the plucking. To deal with the pain, Dean drank more. To soothe his skin, Castiel spared gentle touches, using them wisely and when they would count the most. The fanning of fingers against his side when he cried out in pain. The brush of a pinkie when Castiel leaned closer to pluck again. Anything he could get away with. Anything that wouldn’t rouse too much suspicion. He just wanted to touch Dean and the urge _not_ to became harder and harder to resist. And just when Castiel thought he had the it under control..

The effects of the drugs hit him. Hard.

It was unexpected. What little he had of his Grace should have dulled the effects considerably. Instead, he felt.. light-headed, calm… good. Real good. For a minute, Castiel just hung there, blinking. Savoring. The surge of Croats could come crashing in and he wouldn’t give a goddamn. And for the first time in his life, his sober inhibitions—

“I know you’re hurting..”

Dean’s muscles seized up immediately like a line of army soldiers.

“Cas..”

“About Sam—”

“… don’t.”

“—as if you've somehow failed him..”

“Cas—”

“You haven’t failed me.”

Dean let loose a ragged sigh. “ _Please_.. just..”

Castiel bit his lip. They both went silent, air filled with everything they couldn’t say to each other. The tension was impossibly thick and Dean compensated with a long drink of the bottle.

_I love you. I’ve always loved you._

—was what Castiel wanted to say. Instead, he swallowed it down and buried it, choosing to busy himself in his work. Castiel forgot all about what could have been, what he wanted to say but shouldn’t, just as the dizziness hit him. It had slammed into him unexpectedly, making him to stop for just a second. When he recovered, Castiel flushed out the wound with hydroperoxide. All he wanted to do right then was lay down, sleep.. fade away. Give up. Enjoy this fucked-up feeling and be done with everything. But he couldn’t let Dean down like that. Not now. He was feeling so many things at one time, but ignored all of it for Dean.

With a towel, he rubbed away what blood he could. The wound had long since started to coagulate, leaving behind a gooey, coppery mess. Castiel didn’t hesitate in sticking the needle through the skin, nearly flinching when Dean hissed in pain. His long fingers were quick and agile, weaving in and out of the flesh as gently as possible. Somehow, he kept it together just long enough to stitch the wound closed. And when he was finished, Castiel slapped a bandage patch over it, sealing it around the sticky edges just to make sure.

“Thanks, Cas..”

But he didn’t stop there. There was a whole lot of skin to explore with the gentle brush of fingers. Along Dean’s spine, his back, his shoulder blades. Under the effects of the drugs, Castiel didn’t care about his insecurities or the tension. The past, the present. The wrong or the right. He felt.. invincible. Bold. Beneath his fingertips, Dean shuddered and his skin prickled. Goddamnit, he was beautiful and Castiel had waited too long for an opportunity just to.. touch. With a quiet sigh, Castiel leaned forward to test the skin beneath his lips, burying his face into the warmth of his neck. Dean tensed immediately, muscles like iron coils, and gasped out a breath that sounded like something between surprise and.. a lustful moan. It could have been the drugs playing tricks on him, convincing him that Dean wanted this too. How many years had they avoided this.. _thing_ between them? The longing looks? The lack of personal space? Here and now, with the world ending, they needed each other.

Castiel wasn’t going to let this slip by.

With a kiss at his neck, Castiel snaked a hand around Dean’s body, dragging fingers along his inner thigh. Another sweet noise from Dean’s throat. The defensive tightening of muscles. Dean’s breathing grew heavier and Castiel could hear his heart pounding faster through his skin. His fingers traveled inward, toward the incredible heat between his legs and Dean nearly jumped.

“Cas..” He was breathless. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

He murmured it against his skin, soothed it with kisses while kneading the bulge in his pants. Castiel knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that Dean wanted this as much as he did. Dean’s cock was hard, as was his, pressing against the stiff denim of his jeans. The heat was incredible and it belonged under his fingers, like it was always meant to be. Dean sighed and the tightness in his shoulders, his back, his entire body, slipped away.

“I’ve wanted you for _so_ long, Dean..”

Dean’s moan was heavy and deep in his throat. The sound of it made a shiver run up Castiel’s spine. It was pure, earthy and Castiel earned another one just like it by massaging even harder. In response, Dean leaned back into him and, at the same time, tilted his hips upward into the touching. Castiel wanted more than just this, than groping over clothing. He wanted to feel Dean’s skin against his, wanted to feel the rawness of his warmth. He needed it. He was greedy for it. With another kiss to Dean’s neck, Castiel crawled his fingers up to the button on those jeans, unfastened it, and slipped his hand in. Dean welcomed it with a groan, another greedy tilt of his hips. His own moan caught him by surprise when his fingers caressed the head of Dean’s cock and felt how wet it was for him.

“Fuck..” Dean whimpered. “Cas..”

The way Dean had whispered his name; so drunk with sex, so ripe with his need.. Castiel ghosted his skin with another hushed noise; a whimper, a groan, a curse.. he didn’t know. He was so lost in this. So fucked up that he didn’t care. Another gasp from Dean when Castiel dipped lower to caress and cup his balls, thumb glancing over the skin in small circles. Dean gave into it, all of it, with the cleansing release of a sigh. Like he was letting go, allowing whatever this was to just.. happen. Castiel didn’t waste any time, abandoning his balls for his cock and gripping him tight. Stroking as much as he could given the tight constraints of Dean’s jeans. Castiel could feel Dean’s cock pulse beneath his hand, throb with its heat under his quick and hard manipulation. Dean groaned again and again, jerking his hips with each and every stroke. He was fucking into his hand like a teenage boy; greedy, threatening to pop any minute. But Castiel didn’t want it like this. No. He wanted more. Always more.

Castiel let him go and grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him roughly in order to kiss those full lips. It was a desperate, frantic joining of mouths, tongues forced through to explore each other. Dean groaned and Castiel devoured it, opening his mouth to the fullest extent to let all of him in. Their deep, passionate kiss went on until Castiel had the courage to try and break it. But Dean wouldn’t have it and his denial was a beautiful noise in the back of his throat. Dean latched on with his hand at the back of Castiel’s neck and pulled him back in for more. The resulting kiss was slow, exposing a raw innocence; a love for each other that was buried deep inside, too sensitive to touch. Castiel used this, above anything else, to express how much he loved Dean.

Shifting up to his knees, Castiel cupped Dean’s face with both hands, pulling him in as if they weren’t close enough. The kiss intensified, tongues sliding together lazily, and they both groaned with it. Castiel tried to touch everything, sliding his hands over Dean’s neck, his chest, down to his sides. His hand ended back up at Dean’s face, index finger tucked under his chin, thumb grazing against his jaw line. They lingered at each other’s lips until Castiel was merciless, laying Dean out flat with a push and a jerk at the hips. Roughly, Castiel yanked down Dean’s jeans, face-diving toward those hips to grace the jut of hipbone with a kiss. A bite. The swipe of his tongue. Dean arched his back and tilted his pelvis up invitingly, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair. He pulled hard and Castiel whimpered with the sharp pain, thrilled to the bones with Dean’s show of dominance. He wanted to take orders here, in Dean’s world. Please him. _Serve_ him.

Castiel didn’t wait any longer. He fluttered kisses from Dean’s hip to the head of his cock, licking it along the shaft before sucking it down. The sharp, throaty groan that Dean growled out was heavenly and couldn’t have sounded more sweet. Castiel was enthusiastic with his work. As hard as he could, Castiel sucked while moving up and down the shaft. Dean pistoned his hips with the movement, hands gripping roughly and pushing down on Castiel’s head. He took an inch out of Castiel’s mouth, making it a mile. With it, Castiel discovered that he didn’t have much of a gag reflex. Right then, all he wanted to do was suck Dean’s cock, take it as far as it could go. Make his toes curl and his thighs quiver. He wanted to give and for Dean to take.

Castiel swallowed him down as far as he could, until the head of Dean’s cock hit the back of his throat. Dean cried out and jerked his hips wildly, fucking into Castiel’s mouth hard and quick. When Castiel looked up, he found Dean in a state of total bliss; eyes closed, mouth open, funneling out groans like the notes of a love song. Castiel moaned around him and Dean gasped with the new sensation. He could feel Dean pulse around his lips and Castiel had no choice but to sink his hand into his own pants. Dean’s chorus of groans continued, the up-tilt of his hips quicker, greedier. Castiel fisted his own cock and started jerking it, slipping the wet head between his fingers. He wouldn’t last long like this. Not with Dean moaning like he was. Every one of them sending a jab of excitement into his gut, reverberating up and through him.

Castiel could feel it, how close Dean was. Feel Dean’s cock throb, fatten up with the impending explosion. He tasted him before he heard him; thick on the back of his tongue. With a glorious shout, Dean came, emptying into Castiel’s mouth and down his throat. And that was what tipped him over the edge; swallowing down everything Dean had to give him. Accepting his seed like it was a gift. Castiel moaned around Dean’s cock with his own orgasm, spilling out into his hand hot and plentiful. This feeling of warmth and satisfaction, knowing that he and Dean had shared that together—it was more beautiful, more.. meaningful than anything else on this godforsaken hellhole.

Reluctantly, Castiel slipped his mouth from Dean’s cock, planting a kiss on his hip before rolling over. Both of them were breathing laboriously, staring at the ceiling. They laid there for what seemed like hours. Unmoving. Silent. Castiel appreciated the serenity of the moment. Here, now, with Dean. Away from the chaos and hopelessness of their time. When Castiel finally looked at Dean, the hunter had an unreadable expression about his handsome face. Like he was lost in deep thought.. or.. wondering what the fuck had happened between them. The quiet that Castiel had savored now felt.. itchy all over his skin. Uncomfortable. Looking for a reaction, _anything_ , or just an excuse to touch him again, Castiel brushed the hook of a finger against Dean’s hip. Those green eyes flickered down at him for just a second before shifting away again. As if the moment their eyes had met together had been too long. Dean was the first to break the silence.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Castiel didn’t have a chance to respond before Dean adjusted his clothes and stood up. For a moment, Castiel just watched him, finally following suit and pulling his pants up, gathering what little he had of his broken willpower. Somehow, Castiel was able to swallow down the rejection and soon, like Dean, he was up on his feet. They moved together like well-oiled parts of a machine then, gathering the supplies they’d bring back with them. Beyond their little part of the devastated world, all was quiet. No Croats had banged on the front entrance for hours, as far as Castiel could remember. If they were to get out of here alive, now would be the time to act. Poor nighttime vision would prevent the Croats from detecting them so easily. It was a solid plan. If so, then why couldn’t Castiel get rid of this nagging feeling at the back of his brain?

In the back, Castiel found Dean loading one of the pistols, duffle bag stuffed with several guns. Enough of them to arm a small camp. Their camp. Castiel couldn’t help but notice how.. mechanical Dean’s movements were. Sharp. Methodical. Precise and quick enough to get the job done. The tension in the air was as thick as the haze in Castiel’s head. He just.. wanted to hear Dean’s voice. To know that Dean didn’t hate him.

“Dean, I’m sorr—“

“Don’t, Cas. Just.. don’t.”

Castiel didn’t say anything else. His muscles were rigid, the line of his shoulders unbending when Dean passed him. The hunter didn’t even look at him. Castiel had never felt so.. alone. For several moments, Castiel had to convince himself that _this_ of all things wasn’t his biggest problem. That he should concentrate on the pair of them getting out alive. With a deep breath, Castiel slung his own duffel over his shoulder and followed Dean toward the back entrance. They only spared a nod to each other before breaking out into a dying world.

The chill in the air was crisp, foretelling that winter was just around the corner. The sky was black, starless. A suffocating blanket of heavy despair. The empty lot ahead of them was vast and dark, intimidating in its eerie silence. Reluctantly, with eyes on every shadow, they began to pick their way carefully through it. Dean’s strides were agile, graceful, calculated as they always had been. He was so sure of himself here, like facing the world against incredible odds was what he was meant to do all his life. He never faltered, never hesitated—even when a Croat had come out of nowhere to attack them from behind.

Castiel didn’t even have a chance to react before Dean whirled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him closer. The hunter stepped in front of him, shielding him, and fired off a single shot into the Croat’s head. The booming sound was like a funeral pyre, sung just for them. A dozen or more starved snarls and hisses answered back in unison. They were fucked. Again.

“Shit.”

From the gaping black hole of a wound, Croats bled from the shadows and charged toward them. Dean turned and pulled Castiel with him, the pair of them running in the opposite direction. They were gazelles amid a pride of lions; leaping from the attacks and swipes of finger-claws. Dean fired off his gun toward the left, the bullet zipping into the head of a Croat who had come too close. More Croats joined the fray, hungry moans piercing the otherwise heavy quiet of the night. Another Croat leapt forward, this time for Castiel, and fell away with a shot to forehead. Two more took its place.

“We’re almost there!”

Castiel felt his heart in his throat and his lungs burned, but his legs were quick and steady. Together, they were headed toward the Impala and a tide of death followed. Its icy cold touch nipped at their heels, but their perseverance paid off. Somehow, they were able to pull far enough away, ahead of the surge. Up ahead, the Impala’s darker curves came into view; their rescue and salvation. Hurriedly, Dean piled into the front seat, throwing the duffel into the back. The keys were in the ignition by the time Castiel had made it to the passenger side and climbed in. Dean turned the engine over.

It didn’t start.

“Come on, baby. Don’t do this to me now.”

Castiel swallowed the hard lump in his throat, trying to calm his labored breathing. He didn’t know how palpable fear was until that very moment. When, again, the car didn’t start when Dean turned the ignition.

“Fuck.”

“Dean..”

“Come on, baby.”

The Impala didn’t respond.

“Dean..”

Dean turned the ignition again.

“Dean—“

“What! Fuck, Cas. Can’t you see I’m doing something here!”

“They’re coming..”

In the review window, Castiel could see them; pale faces that became more distinct, more clear, _closer_ , every time the Impala failed to start up. The Croats were looming in.. and fast.

Dean turned over the ignition again—

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

—and again. The Croats came closer and Castiel could see their eyes. Soulless. Hungry.

“Come on!”

Castiel closed his eyes and whispered a little prayer—a last ditch effort to a Father, a God, that never seemed to answer. Like a chorus from Heaven itself, the Impala roared to life and Dean gunned it, barreling down one of the side streets. Castiel’s heavy sigh couldn’t have been more cleansing, more relieved, and Dean’s outburst couldn’t have been more.. endearing.

“Wah-hoo! Fuck yeah!”

He banged on the steering wheel. “I knew you could do it, baby! Cas! Did you see how fucking close we were?”

Dean grabbed his knee and squeezed it affectionately, eyes on the road. Castiel looked down at the hand and then at Dean. He seemed so.. invigorated, more alive than Castiel had seen him in a long time. The touch, Dean’s revitalization, made him smile.

Together, they traveled down the road toward their future. A future that seemed.. a little brighter.


End file.
